


Teacher's Pet

by hellhoundsprey



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Jensen, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Anal Fisting, Biting, Bottom Jared, Bruises, Choking, Consent, Dirty Talk, Discrimination, Hormones, Humiliation, M/M, Marking, Omega Jared, Pheromones, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Jensen Ackles, Power Imbalance, Recreational Drug Use, Safer Sex, Sexism, Sexual Harassment, Stalking, Top Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 19:24:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20179462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: To his greatest dismay, Mr. Padalecki has an admirer.





	Teacher's Pet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TransSoftboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TransSoftboy/gifts).

> If you like problematic porn, clap your hands! If you like problematic porn, clap your hands! If you’re not triggered by the tags and you’re aware it’s only fiction, if you like problematic porn, clap your hands! 
> 
> Concerning anatomy, please refer to [this cool graphic I made (NSFW)](https://hellhoundsprey.tumblr.com/post/154223082799/abo-anatomy-how-i-imagine-it). 
> 
> For my babe.

The paper slides back to Jared’s side of the table.

The last control he had left over his face goes straight out of the window.

“So, I’m just supposed to put up with this?”

“He’s just a brat. It’s gonna pass.”

“I’m a _joke_. The entire class knows.”

The headmaster grimaces in their effort to look worried instead of annoyed. “Graduation is due in another few weeks. I can see why you’re upset, but you know his family is too important for this community to make a fuss.”

“‘A fuss.’”

“Mr. Padalecki…”

“‘Your brain says no but your body—’”

“I’ve read the note.”

Jared snaps, “Great,” barely containing his voice and slams his fist down on the table. He quickly rises from his seat then to mutter half-assed apologies, disgusted by how agitated he is now, shaking from head to toe. They abruptly say their goodbyes, no thank you, no nothing.

Jared steps out onto the corridor and beelines for the teacher’s restrooms. Ackles’ letter, now crushed and damp from his fist, gets shoved into the pocket of his dress pants.

Not much later, Jack welcomes him in the tiny tea kitchen with his flask out.

“I’ll go insane.” Jared drinks in greedy gulps while Jack tuts and pats his shoulder. Jack’s got to reach up high to do it.

“‘Alphas will be alphas’,” Jack muses with just enough sarcasm that Jared doesn’t strangle him on the spot. The lounge is busy; they keep their voices down and the flask pours another round before it slips back into Jack’s fanny pack. “And they don’t…?”

Jared shakes his head.

“Not even a little bit?”

“I’m supposed to wait it out.”

Jack snorts. “’Cause that’s always stopped a young lad with a mission.”

“Do you think I should go to the po—”

Someone else walks in to rummage through the cabinets just beside them. They settle with sipping their Irish coffee.

But Jack shakes his head, and Jared nods, defeated.

Yeah. It’s no use.

~

_Everything you do turns me on. Like, when you rearrange your glasses. _

_God. _

Jared has to, inevitably, shove his glasses back up. He tries not to stutter or let his hand tremble and hopes that nobody notices.

Why would anybody notice something like that, though? Much less be turned on by it? Jared is convinced Ackles is just messing with him, at least about the glasses.

There are other things, too, of course. Most of them though—just as harmless, casual. Or so Jared thought. He can barely move anymore without second-guessing himself.

He’s talked to his OB-GYN, switched up his suppressants to something stronger, praying that it would solve the issue (like his doc assured him). It didn’t.

_“Shouldn’t you be talking like that to someone your age?”_ had been one of the first obvious hints Jared’s allowed himself to reply to Ackles’ (back then still tamer) advances.

The memory of that sincere look on the kid’s face, blurting, _“Why? I don’t mind it,”_ still sends shudders down Jared’s spine today.

He knows. He’s aware. He doesn’t mind. It won’t stop him—that you’re old enough to be his parent, that you’re unmated but obviously on suppressants and not interested, that you told him ‘no’ so many times you’ve lost count.

He’ll still sit in your class, first row, and objectify the way you blink your goddamn eyes.

“That’s enough for today,” he hears himself say over the ring of the bell, carefully avoiding eye contact with Ackles. “Be sure to prepare the texts. Don’t think I won’t know if you haven’t read it all, y’all.” He mentally punches himself. Dialect is high on Ackles’ list.

The rows bleed out into the corridor and Jared hurries to gather the papers strewn across his desk. He makes an effort to keep things in order during class so he won’t lose precious time, but lately, Ackles’ boldness has led him up to his desk with other students still present in the room anyway.

Jared’s heart and stomach drop with the so familiar movement in the corner of his eye; that strut right to the front of his desk.

“So,” he hears, so casual, so friendly. _I’ll fill your guts until you can’t even spell your own name._ “I haven’t heard back from you. Did you get my…?”

“Yeah, I did. And no.”

He’s not looking but he _knows_ Ackles is throwing on a sweet, pouting smile. Can see the shape of him swaying, slightly, hands in the pockets of his letterman jacket, hears him sighing, scoffing, something.

“How often do I have to repeat m-myself?” Fuck, get it together, just leave, leave me alone. “I’m not interested,” he grits, as quietly and firmly as he can, desperate the students in the back won’t hear, but they know, and they’re _staring_, and they’re making fun of him. The omega’s eyes are pointed down, uselessly, onto his already rated papers, the white knuckles of his hand. “Leave me alone. Please.”

Ackles laughs, “You act like I’m gonna execute you or something!”

Jared is sick with his heart beating up into his throat. “Please leave.”

“Don’t you think I’d make sure you’d—”

“LEAVE!” Jared shoots to a stand, suddenly, unplanned, his face derailing with the entire room startling along with him—the towering height of him standing, even taller than the alpha in front of him, forehead glistening with sweat and his lip trembling—you’re supposed to be a role model, what, your hormones got the best of you?

Jensen and him lock eyes long enough for Jared to be read down into his deepest nooks and crannies, because Jensen can do that, he’s doing it in every class they have, he’s doing it following him out into the parking lot, tailing him until Jared’s hidden in some diner or fast food joint long enough for him to get bothered with other responsibilities.

Jared’s never wanted to punch anyone, let alone this violently, urgently. The thought shocks him to a point that he blindly grabs what he can and storms out the door.

~

The setting sun coats the parking lot in orange. Jared’s beat-up Honda idles in one of the five omega parking spots right up front, underneath the security camera, together with Jensen Ackles.

Jared spots him from afar; it’s not the first time. He keeps walking with his brain simulating how he’d grab the pepper spray from the pocket of his jacket, pop the cap with his thumb, spray it, throw the kid to the ground, get in his car, lock it, floor the gas pedal. The walk to his car only takes several seconds but that record has replayed endlessly already.

Jensen opens with, “Only one date,” his favorite, lately, “just give me a single chance.”

He’s smiling, and he’s adorable; a fresh slap of freckles shines from his skin and his hair is soft and blond and he’s about two hundred pounds of close-combat muscles and all Jared has on him are about four inches of height and the pepper spray in his pocket.

Jensen adds, “I’ll be good to you,” and Jared wonders if the camera picks up sound, too.

“Get away from my car.”

“Did you know it’s unhealthy to take those drugs on a long-term basis? You can get cancer, or depression, or all kinds of organ damage.”

“Move, Jensen.”

“I won’t leave you alone,” says Jensen with the same soft, charming voice he’s used, always, with Jared. He’s leaning up against the driver’s door of Jared’s car where his expensive jeans pick up the dirt from the banged-up metal, uncaring. “I know where you live. I’ll find you. All you have to do is let me. I don’t get why you’re so stubborn, really.”

Jensen throws him a pitying look, now. Jared has no idea what he looks like.

“You can pepper spray me all you want. I’ll get to you.”

“It might blind you,” Jared hears himself say, his voice crackling with the urge to cry. “Like, permanently.”

“You know my parents won’t let that slip. I’ll get you, no matter what.”

The world is spinning, and Jared is just so, so tired.

If Jensen moved a single muscle, Jared’s heart would give out. The alpha might know, because he’s as liquid-still as a cat.

Jared’s skin is so numb he barely feels the sweat pouring down his neck.

“I get that you’re scared,” says Jensen, quietly and sweetly, and no high school senior should have the emotional depth he so easily dishes out. “You haven’t been touched for so long. But I promise, you’re gonna like it. It won’t hurt.”

“Why do you do this?”

“I’ve told you before. We’re meant to be.”

“It doesn’t…” Jared has nothing to lean against. Might be best to just fall flat on his face, knock himself out. “You’re not making any…”

“Side-effect of your drugs,” Jensen explains, and pushes off of Jared’s car.

“D-don’t—”

“Your Jacobson’s organ gets numbed along with your scent glands. So, you haven’t realized yet, but—”

Jensen stops when Jared begins walking backwards.

The glint in his eye changes ever so slightly.

Every omega instinct in Jared wrestles with his primal instinct to run, effectively freezing Jared where he stands.

“—but,” Jensen continues, closing in slower, but inevitably, “give it a try. You’ll know what I’m talking about.”

They haven’t been this close since Jared grasped just how serious the alpha’s interest in him was, and even without touching, the disgust rolls through his nervous system.

He warns, “I’m—” but Jensen insists, “No, here,” and pulls him face-first into the crook of his neck.

Jared’s head jerks backwards but Jensen’s hand is firm, and he swallows the gush of vomit with a deep, nasal inhale—

and the world stops.

He hears Jensen from too close, “Are you puking on me?” but he’s too dumbfounded to understand the words, any words, because he’s so suddenly, so overwhelmingly overcome with—

Warmth? Bliss?

“There you go,” and Jared shudders with Jensen moving his face, burying his nose in his neck, behind his ear. He hears him inhaling, Jared himself safe and enclosed in this—scent—and clothes and skin, his free arm still limp by his side but the one formerly grabbing the shit out of his bag’s shoulder strap now slowly goes soft, slips down. It inevitably bumps against Jensen’s soft-soft jacket, padded until he feels firm muscle because they’re squeezing their bodies together now.

Eventually, “Are you crying?”

Jared can’t reply.

Jensen holds him tight while Jared Padalecki turns into six feet four of a no-bones, doughy mess.

Jared gets pushed off just enough so Jensen can get to his mouth, push his lips right up against him. Last time Jared’s had a tongue in his mouth, he’s been so hopelessly inebriated he couldn’t taste a thing but salt and lemon.

It’s important to say that there is no big evil trauma that led to Mr. Padalecki’s abstinence. No weird upbringing, no cults, no arranged marriage that went sideways. It just never seemed worth the hassle. Or the risk. Tales from friends always turned into tragedies, and Jared never thought himself fit for a useless struggle.

There had been encounters, sure, but usually with other soft-minded omegas. Alphas were put off by his height, his built, his intelligence—pretty much everything about him.

All of that, now, seems utterly and completely redundant.

He takes both the alpha and himself by surprise by shoving Jensen away and projectile vomiting into the small strip of burnt grass by the sidewalk.

It’s over as fast as it started and Jensen has just enough time to re-gather his wits for a, “Woah,” before another gush of stomach contents finds its way back to the surface.

Once the heaving subsides for good, Jared drops on his ass to lean back up against the license plate of his car. He drops his forehead into his hands, groaning. Jensen unsolicitedly lends him a hand rummaging through his bag for his stainless-steel water bottle.

They’re shoulder to shoulder while Jared rinses his mouth, regains his breath and consciousness. He wipes his flat hand over his eyes, taking note of his completely disarranged and smeared glasses only now. He huffs, “Jesus,” and sniffles, re-wipes his tear-streaked face with the sleeve of his shirt before trying to gather enough hem to wipe his glasses with.

“Stop staring,” he grumbles, perfectly aware that Jensen won’t listen.

“Can you imagine now? What it’s like for me, every day?”

“You’re insane,” decides Jared, and Jensen grabs his face to kiss him again.

He’s a good kisser. Pretty good, actually.

“M-my glasses—w-wait—” Jared’s being climbed upon and his spine bends uncomfortably against the unyielding metal in his back. “Wait, I—J-Jen, uh—I said—WAIT!”

They stare at each other, shocked, upon Jared gaining the upper hand (again) and pushing the alpha kid an arm’s length away.

Jensen warns, perfectly calm, “You really shouldn’t do that,” and Jared hiccups his nodded gasps and struggles to get back to his feet.

He manages an apology before Jensen’s back on his mouth, tackling him down onto the hood of his too-small car.

“I wanna get you out of here,” informs Jensen eventually, his weight comfortable on top of Jared at this point. The strict line of his jeans-restricted erection is stabbing Jared’s stomach with a violence even Jared’s pheromone-numbed brain can’t ignore.

Jared replies, intelligently, “Uh,” his hair plastered across everywhere after his bun came undone at some point, his right shoe about to slip off his naked (asleep) foot entirely.

Jensen yanks him up by his button-down, and Jared has to bow his back some with the weight Jensen’s arm pulls him down and along.

What the fuck, Padalecki?

“Uh,” he repeats, thirty-six years old and top-notch college education, “w-where…?”

“Your car is shit,” informs Jensen, and Jared struggles to get his glasses up enough to make out Jensen’s G-Wagon coming into view.

Oh, shit. “Uh, I, I h-have t-to…”

“You can feed your cats tomorrow, it’s not like they’re gonna starve.”

Jared blurts, “Oh,” and finds himself in the passenger seat.

There is too much street-dirt and body fluids on him to be around or inside anything this clean and new-smelling.

The driver door slams shut behind Jensen. “I, I can’t, we, I—”

Jensen buckles up. “We can go to your place, I don’t care, but this is happening. So,” he turns the car on, shifts into reverse and gives Jared a glimpse of full attention. “Your call—motel or your place?”

The car is in motion before Jared has stuttered his choice.

The window is rolled down for some wind to whip into Jared’s hair and face. He can’t tell if he’s crying still or again. Maybe just the wind. What the fuck.

Wait, what the fuck is happening?

He opens his mouth at a red light, but Jensen’s quicker. An ominous white pill in his hand, he shoots, all matter-of-fact: “You want?”

“W-what…”

“Sildenafil.”

“What?! D-dude, I’m—not taking a fucking heat inducer!”

“It’s safe,” says Jensen, putting his foot on the gas and directing his gaze back to the street in front of them; hand with pill still in Jared’s face. “Low dose, low risk of side effects, comes and goes super quick. I’ve tested it with someone before,” he adds, superfluously, as if that makes the slightest difference.

Jared glares at Ackles Jr.’s handsome profile, the quick side glance he gets when he’s still not complying.

Jensen sighs. “Look. We’ll make it work with spit and lube, I ain’t got no problem with that. Your choice.”

Jared’s eyes dip to the pill.

This is happening.

He makes a face.

“…How long does it…?”

“Four hours, max.”

Jared mutters, “Jesus.” And again, “Jesus,” as he plucks the pill from those goddamn fingers.

He hates that he’s just as hard as the alpha and can barely get his goddamn water bottle open with how sweaty his palms are.

Jensen’s glued to his back all the way from the underground parking lot and up the too many stairs. Would be a lie to say Jared doesn’t at least once think about turning around and pushing the guy down in the hopes he won’t make it to the bottom alive. But weirdly enough, the panic is gone now, and there’s just this urge to get it over with. Anything to get that prick detached from him. Talk about claustrophobia.

“Would you—I can’t—” unlock the door, but Jensen’s apparently done being nice, seeing as he spins Jared around and slams him up against his own door. Jensen’s got his tongue in his face and his knee jammed up into Jared’s crotch, and Jared’s annoyance visibly drains with every minute that goes by.

“You’re an ass.”

“Get the fucking door open.”

Jared doesn’t know how Jensen’s got topless by the time they’re inside, but the view is dumbfounding him to the point where the alpha gets agitated by it, again.

“You can take a pic later,” grunts Jensen without a smile and his fingers unceremoniously yanking his own jeans open and down.

Jared’s made it as far as struggling out of one (1) shoe and dropping his heavy-ass bag on the floor by the time Jensen’s back at him, stark naked, and his hands all over him.

“Wait,” he blurts between lips and forced _oofs_ from being manhandled and shoved and pulled, “Wait, I’m—”

“Think I’ve waited enough, huh?”

“I’m, Jesus, let—can you—”

“Look, strip and get on a bed and we’re good, but for the love of God, shut your fucking mouth.”

Jared’s lips seal, tight, and a fresh coat of red layers onto his face. “You tore my shirt,” he says in the bedroom, shortly before Jensen pushes him straight onto his I-should-do-laundry-soon state kind of bed.

And then it’s quiet but for their breathing, and for a moment, Jared swears he can hear Jensen’s heart jackrabbiting from five feet away.

He’s being stared down at, and for the first time in a long time, there’s a rush of heat following the thought.

Jared’s got toys in the drawer an arm’s length away, but those don’t breathe or touch him back.

“I’m not on birth control,” is what his brain comes up with. His voice breaks one too many times.

Jensen extends his arm to show the condoms he’s had gripped since he undressed an eon ago.

Jared says, “Oh,” and has them tossed into his face. Jensen climbs after them, and Jared has lost the ability to even flinch.

Ackles runs his palm from Jared’s foot up to his inner thigh, avoids his junk and travels up to stomach, chest, where it presses down; to his throat, where it presses down—harder.

Jared hasn’t been aware of his Adam’s apple since it decided to grow.

He half-swallows and feels his legs shifting open upon that grip tightening further.

Jensen studies his face.

“Have you been fucked before?”

Jared barely-blinks.

He might look dumb enough that Jensen feels the need to repeat, “I asked if you’ve been _fucked_ before,” that confident, gentle tone getting tinted with a strictness that twirls a good bunch of Jared’s few on-board brain cells around its finger.

Jared asks, half-jokingly, “Do omegas count?” and Jensen’s lip lifts in a cruel scoff.

“You’re gonna like it,” Jensen’s favorite mantra, and Jared is so out of fucks to give that it might as well be true.

With Jensen’s hand still wrapped around his throat, Jared can’t do much but lay there and accept Jensen lowering his face for the gentlest of kisses they’ve had so far.

There’s been plenty of kisses, so far.

Jensen lays down on him, real and naked, and something in Jared tells him that under no circumstance should he raise his arms now. Maybe not even flinch, unless he tells you to.

Well, alright.

Jensen’s cock settles in the crease of Jared’s hip and without any fabric between them, Jared realizes that—no, omegas apparently don’t fucking count.

Hell. He’s got maybe _one_ toy of that size.

Those fingers crush his windpipe some more with it but he can’t stop the words, “Can I see it?”

Jensen looks at him like he’s broken some unspoken code.

“You…want to _see_ it?”

Jared barely-nods with that hand blocking his chin.

Jensen looks confused but lifts his body far enough for Jared to see—despite it taking some force to lift his head against Jensen’s grip.

“Jesus,” he croaks, effectively choking himself for the view, and he runs hot and cold at the same time.

“You’re gonna take that for me,” informs Jensen, instantly re-gaining Jared’s wide eyes, laying back down, grinding his hips just enough for reassurance.

Jared wants to object. Because how can this kid know? He doesn’t _know_ him. They’ve never exchanged as many words as today, never really touched. How many omegas has this kid had to be so sure, huh?

“You’re wet for it. I can smell it.”

“_Jesus_.”

“Jesus isn’t gonna help you with that. Say my name.”

Jared shuts his mouth just because.

Jensen’s gaze switches between Jared’s eyes.

“I promised I’ll be nice,” he hums. “But do as I say, or I’ll make you black out on it.”

Jared’s teacher brain makes him snort into that still slightly baby-fat senior face before he can think better of it.

“You think I’m joking.”

Jared’s teacher brain wants to sass that brat out, but Jared bites his tongue early enough and gets—spun around with a mean grip on his shoulder, and now he’s face-down with his arm wrestled up behind his back, gasping, because Jensen’s hand around his throat turned to _a choke-hold_ around his throat.

Jared’s lizard brain notices that they can’t move, that it hurts, and that he’s so fucking into it he wants to piss himself.

No, wait, uh—

“I could do it like this,” is a whisper in his ear, and Jared’s blood gets trapped in his head, so he makes a grunt-choked noise and nothing else upon Jensen wrestling his legs apart and sliding his cock between his ass cheeks. “Easy as pie.”

Jared whimpers.

Jared never whimpers.

Jared’s hips cant up and out and he doesn’t know how this too-young-to-know-better alpha manages it but instead of finishing the push his body initiates on obvious instinct, he pulls back, barely, forcing another frustrated sound from Jared’s mangled throat.

“Stop it,” hisses Jensen first, hastily grabbing for the condoms and getting one strangled over his cock, then laughing mean when Jared’s body auto-pilots his lower half from the mattress.

A too-well placed smack across his ass shocks an embarrassing noise out of him, and Jensen laughs at him for it.

Jensen hits him a few more times until Jared’s turned to whimpering into the nearest pillow.

He doesn’t know he’s that tense until Jensen presses him down with his body weight, flattening Jared out underneath him like a pancake. Jared huffs under the pressure, the lack of air, god, his glasses—

Jensen helps him flinging them onto the nightstand, but they miss, and the frames fall to the floor with a clatter neither of them notices.

Jensen huffs, “Come on now,” and all Jared can think and feel and say is a strangled, “Please,” and Jensen sucks his lips over his scent gland with a deeply satisfied groan as he begins pushing up into Jared.

It’s happening too quickly and not quick enough at the same time. Jared can’t stop inhaling, shocked, too stimulated with the kid on his neck—there’s pain, the stretch too hot and the pressure too hard and _increasing_, and Jensen doesn’t fucking miss and slides right into his pussy.

Jared’s blind and huffing pathetically when the kid’s up against his cervix and still pushes on.

“I’m, there’s—”

Jared yelps with the growl/bite combo that forces his insides even tighter around the too-fat cock too-deep in him.

So this is the ‘shut up and take it’ part everyone always talks about.

It hurts and it doesn’t—his ass is too tight, not anywhere enough of prep there, but his pussy is so wet he swears he can hear the suction despite the depth of it with Jensen’s draw-back.

The first thrust has him gushing slick and gurgling a noise he wasn’t aware he was capable of.

Jensen pops off his neck with a satisfied growl, gets his arm back around Jared’s throat and begins laying into him, just like that.

Like Jared’s just another one of his bendy little love dolls instead of a thirty-plus-year-old virgin.

Jared’s too occupied with choking and bearing through the pain to fight. Once he realizes it’s not painful at all, he’s putty and depleted of oxygen enough to deflate entirely, push his ass out, and let the kid have at it.

Yeah, no, omegas don’t fucking count.

“Exactly,” grunts Jensen to nothing in particular; at least Jared doesn’t recall spilling a single comprehensive word.

The chokehold disappears and Jared hacks up some fluids, gets that beautiful-punishing cock pushed deep before it gets yanked out of him; he sobs a little at that, maybe.

Jensen pulls the entire weight of Jared to the edge of the bed, where he rucks him up by the hips and slams back into him.

Jared’s fuck-old bed frame screams in horror.

Jared uselessly grabs behind himself, spreads himself, holds one of his ankles just to hold onto—something. Jensen gets one foot on the bed. The leverage is phenomenal.

Nothing exists but this. This moment, the emptiness, that feeling of flying and drowning at the same time.

Jared gets a hand between his legs and jerks himself a couple of times.

Not much more is needed.

He’s masturbated with something up his ass before, but this is different. Like it’s expanding even more, and constantly working him, and—

Oh, shit.

“D-do—” is as far as he gets, thanks to Jensen’s painful-sharp pinch to the back of his neck.

“Just let it happen,” hears Jared, whose mouth is stuck open, drooling, still coming somehow, unable to move a single muscle while the quickly growing knot of his student begins catching on his sphincter on every other downstroke. And then on _every_ downstroke.

He cries when it catches for good.

“I’m gonna die I’m gonna die Ackles I’m gonna die—”

In his sole response, Jensen pinches his neck harder.

Jared wants to scream, but there’s nothing to pull that from.

Jensen shudders, hard, when he starts coming. Jared can feel _that_. Slurs, “Oh, uh,” upon Jensen slowly but surely lowering his weight back over him, idly pumping his hips, and it doesn’t hurt. When did it stop hurting?

He doesn’t notice Jensen worming his hand between them, but God, does he notice when Jensen starts knuckling into his taint.

Hard.

Jared sobs and shoots another too-wet load into the sheets. He hears himself begging, “Please, puh-please,” entirely out of breath and mind, and Jensen works more magic, stuck to him and still ebbing with his own orgasm.

Jared can’t remember rolling onto his back. Which makes sense, because he wakes flat on his stomach.

Ackles is next to him, out like a light.

The room is pitch black. The alarm clock by the bed reads a deep hour of the night.

As Jared pushes himself up on his elbows, Kale and Sir Milkshake flee the scene.

Jared groans into his hands.

However long it’s been, his knees yet require more time to return to a solid state. A warm rush down his thighs alarms the shit out of him until he discovers in the bathroom that it’s only slick.

Right. Condom.

Jared flushes the toilet, feeds the cats, raids the fridge for that left-over piece of spinach-tofu lasagna. The cats smack away blissfully. They—shockingly—don’t seem too upset about the delay.

Jared brushes his teeth and returns to his bedroom.

Jensen is still knocked out. On his back, half-heartedly covered with a sheet.

Jesus.

Jensen slurs a sleep-soft, “Hey,” when the mattress moves, and Jared stays quiet in the hopes the alpha will fall right back under.

Nope. “You alright?”

Jared nods.

“Words.”

Jared grits, “Yeah.”

Ackles, the little shit, grows a big grin on his dopey sleep-face. “Told you.”

Fuck you. “Aren’t your parents worried? It’s like, the middle of the night. On a school night.”

Jensen rolls over to fully face him now. Great. “Why would they?”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess. You being an alpha and. Well,” sighs Jared, sinking back into his unwashed pillow, head on his arms. “So. You gonna spend the night, or…?”

Jensen’s young eyes blink at him. “What’s this look like to you, huh?”

“I just thought, uh.” The thought trails off. “Whatever.”

“You want me out?”

“No. It’s okay. Whatever.”

Jensen’s hand reaches for Jared’s triceps. Grinning devil. “Or you want me _in_?”

“_Sleep_,” stresses Jared, and turns left, facing away.

With Jensen moving in to big-spoon him, this turns out to be a drastic mistake.

“You can sleep when you’re dead,” suck-murmured into his neck and Jared shudders nice. Jensen’s got his fingers rubbing at his ass before he’s even curled it out for him.

Jared’s face screws up. “Je—ouch—”

“Sore?”

“No, jus—I mean, yeah, but.” Jared throws the kid a helpless face across his shoulder.

Jensen blinks back, unfazed.

You’re gonna make me say it, huh. “I’m—not wet. It hurts. You can’t just…”

Three fingers jam into Jared’s stupid mouth.

“Get them wet, then.”

Jared lost interest in following protocols and rules and orders when alphas began leering praise about him doing it so meticulously. How he did end up getting his degree is beyond him.

There’s just something so fulfilling about spitting it right back in their face, proving them that they can’t control you.

So, J. Padalecki should feel way more infuriated and considerably less blissed out to be sucking the life out of some alpha jock kid’s fucking fingers.

Jared’s good at blow jobs—comes naturally with the big mouth and craving for validation and all that.

Jensen’s not into it. “Don’t suck, _spit_.”

Jared soldiers through getting those fingers way down his throat. He doesn’t gag but tears are rolling, again.

“Yeah,” praises Jensen, and Jared swears he can smell that dick growing hard.

Jensen’s so quick with his hands. Jared’s being held down with one and has the other halfway up his ass before he can fully get over the loss of oral preoccupation.

“Jesus—”

“Call me alpha.”

Jared groans, frustrated, omega instincts taking over and leaving him more pliant and pillow-y than he’d like.

Jensen’s scenting him again, rubbing his face into the back of his neck, his hair, while he’s feeling him out, angling for his prostate so efficiently, so easily, that Jared can’t help but melt into it.

“You’re so soft…”

“How about you shut up.”

“No, I mean, y-your. Your skin, and. God, that feels so good…”

“You’re not getting wet.”

“Muh, I. Well, uh.” Too dizzy, already. Who’s the eighteen-year-old again? Jared shrugs, lopsided smile on his face. “Suppressants, y’know?”

“You’ll stop taking them,” decides Jensen before he scoots down Jared’s back.

Oh, wow. Wait.

Wait. What?

Jared’s been eaten out before. It’s not new. But, God.

Jensen just _goes_ for it.

Spit, Jared decides, pheromones in his spit, must be _that_, Jesus, God, oh, “Wow, uh…”

Something important in his brain snaps in half when he peeps down just in time to see Jensen dripping a fat line of spit right into him.

Jared isn’t one to beg. But he’s holding his ass open, now, every part of his reproductive system so fucking ready. “Please.” When did he get out of breath, exactly?

Jensen plunges three fingers back into his ass, unceremonial. “What was that? Couldn’t hear you over the sound of this greedy fucking pussy.”

There’s no articulate reply available.

Jensen grunts, “What do you need?” with his arm pumping, eyes hooded and dark. They still didn’t draw the curtains.

“Fuck me, please.”

“Fuck me please, who?”

“F-fuck m-me, please, a-alph—”

Jared’s stuffed full so fast he can’t even begin to comprehend it before Jensen’s assuring him, tight-lipped, “Don’t worry, I’ll pull out.”

Jared’s hand is still clawed into his own ass cheek, a finger or two accidentally skimming where Jensen is stretching him the fuck out. It feels too tight to breathe, or move, and Jared rolls over to make it easier for Jensen to fuck him right through it.

“Knew you’d be like this,” gasps the kid on Jared’s back, idly chewing on his neck and ear, punching his raw cock so deep into his guts Jared swears he can feel it bulging him out into the mattress. “Fucking perfect for me.”

Jared struggles to make himself more available, but for every half an inch he raises his hips, Jensen grinds him down another two. Submit. You’re mine. Don’t bother.

A nasty suction noise joins the sweat-harsh slap of skin on skin, and Jared is mortified until he comprehends that this is good, that it’s slick. Finally.

Jensen sits up on the back of Jared’s thighs and grinds into him with a groan that, not for the first time, lets Jared doubt his age.

The sudden, steady flood of fresh oxygen has Jared gasping like a fish on land. Only now, he realizes, “J—you, p-pull…”

Jensen huffs, “Yeah, I need a break anyway,” and Jared might have asked for it, but he still sheds a secret tear about getting pulled out of so suddenly.

Oh, God. Being empty is even worse than being too full.

“That looks nice,” informs Jensen, matter of fact, own dick wet in his hand, as he grinds four fingers back into Jared.

“W-wait,” is all Jared can come up with when he feels that thumb angling in.

Jensen assures, “I’ll go slow,” and Jared’s mouth drops—and stays—open upon the push-in.

They’re both quiet, except for Jared’s wincing which always, inevitably, gets Jensen to retreat, carefully, and work further just a little gentler.

Jared hears a wet, honestly amazed, “Fuck,” right before the nub of Jensen’s thumb joint gets sucked inside.

Jared can’t hear much now but the frantic slap of fist on cock.

“Holy shit,” is something else he hears, and he thinks he’s gonna lose it when that hand curls up inside of him—

until it begins to knuckle into his prostate.

Jensen pants, “Come on, come on,” and Jared goes straight from the distant urge to come to _I will never stop coming and that’s probably a bad thing_.

There are sounds coming out of his throat he’d never admit to outside of this room. He might have to kill Jensen, after all.

Jared is thirty-six and sobbing, loudly, with multiple orgasms milking the hell out of the hand up his ass.

The acidic rank of alpha come hits his nose first, but not long before it already cools down in the small of his back, running down his sides and soaking the bed.

There’s the distant struggle of Jensen getting his hand back out of him, but Jared isn’t home anymore, just a puddle of organs and a hoarse throat, and a bucket full of tears.

This time, when he wakes up, he feels clean. And there’s coffee.

In front of his face.

“Here,” hurries Jensen, fully dressed, smelling like Jared’s shower gel.

Jared accepts the chipped _Green Tigers Go!_ cup with both hands and a level of gratitude he wasn’t aware he was capable of. Up on his elbows now, he blink-squints around the room. “What time…?” His sight catches onto the bold red letters spelling half an hour left until he’s supposed to be showing up at work.

His spirit leaves what is left of his body.

“Just call in sick,” he hears from the corridor. “I’ll text you.”

The front door opens and closes.

Jared stares into the general direction the sounds came from.

The cup is burning his palms.

~

Sir Milkshake purrs around his leg while Jared pees on a pregnancy test.

The internet says it’s practically impossible off-heat, especially on suppressants. But you never know. Jared certainly doesn’t.

Negative. Naturally.

Jared hits his bong, hard. He bakes a fresh batch of bread and cookies, eats half of the latter right off the hot tray. By the time he’s checking his phone for the first time today, there are five unread messages from Ackles.

Jared expects profanities and is taken off-guard by basic, concerned notes, like:

_got here safe. eat some breakfast._

_you gonna pick up your car or should I get it for you?_

_OK I guess you’re gonna get it yourself then_

_pizza + movie tonight?_

_I don’t know what kinda films you like. uh. nvmnd._

Jared replies, “theatre or Ntflix knd of movie?” like a fucking teen.

_do you like horror movies?_

_OK u should get back here so I can suck your_ (Uh, no, delete, delete, delete.) _yeah sure (thumbs up emoji)_

_I’ll figure something out._

Ah, great.

_so._

_how’s my pussy?_

It’s nearing 5 PM when Jared opens his door with the security chain intact and a friendly, “H’llo?”

“Open the door.”

“It’s open.”

“I can kick this thing in, y’know.”

Jared squints. “Can you?”

Jensen shrugs. “Wanna find out?”

Jared removes the chain. Jensen lets himself in. Jared gladly accepts the pizza that’s shoved into his chest and carries it over to the living room.

Onion only reluctantly leaves his spot and the close proximity to the pizza. Jared hisses, “Git,” already opening the box and inhaling one huge, cheesy slice.

Jensen trots in, jacket off, socked feet, and comes to a halt, squinting at the interior.

“What,” smacks Jared, stacking his feet on top of his coffee table. “I teach high school English, y’know.”

Jensen’s eyes rise to Sir Milkshake, who has been staring at him from her outpost ever since he stepped inside.

“What is _that_?”

“Who? Sir?” Jared whips his head around to confirm that yes, the spotted feline is the object of Jensen’s current disgust. “She’s a rescue, but such a sweetheart. So, movies?”

“What’s _wrong_ with it?”

“Are you telling me you’ve never seen a lazy eye before?”

Jensen squints harder. His pretty mouth curls in dismay.

“She’s also missing a leg. Don’t stare. She hates that.”

The kid takes a seat, close enough that they’re bumping shoulders. He grabs a slice of pizza with the one and fishes for his phone with the other hand. “What’s your WIFI password?”

Jared freezes half-bite.

“Also, turn on the Bluetooth on your TV so I can connect to it.”

Jared puts his meal down. “You need to slow down.”

Jensen doesn’t look up from his phone until he gets irritated by the non-compliance. “What?”

“I’m not gonna let you into my WIFI, man.”

“Really now?”

“I thought you’d bring, like, DVDs?”

Jensen rolls his eyes and shoves the remaining slice from his hand into his mouth—and gets up.

Tensing, Jared inquires, “Where are you going?” just to hear the muffled, rage-inducing reply of, “Reading your password off of the back of your fucking router.”

“I said NO!”

Kale hisses, and Jared apologizes before sprinting after Jensen—just to sprint back, close the pizza box, and re-sprint to where his most Precious is.

“I had my hand in you,” reminds Jensen, but this is somehow more private, and invasive, and scary.

It’s convenient and the logic thing to do, but. This means he’ll be back here, right? Come by all the time? Use Jared’s bandwidth whenever he wants to?

“So, what?” Jared blurts, towering over a squatting Jensen, who’s ignoring his general panic. “A-are we—what even _are_ we, now?!”

Jensen gives him a puzzled look over his shoulder for that. He repeats, “I had my _hand in you_,” so slowly and accusing that Jared’s mellow high has found a definite end.

“Leave. Now.”

Jensen snorts.

“I mean it. Fuck off.”

“Are we doing this? Again?”

“You can’t, just, come in here, and, a-and—”

“Fuck you better than anyone’s ever fucked you before?”

Jared exclaims, “Exactly!” and, “You can’t just expect me to, to—”

“Be a good bitch and do as I say?”

Jared’s mouth hangs open for a second, because, wow, Jensen gets to his feet fast, huh. “Yeah,” he agrees, much less enthusiastic now.

“But that’s what you are,” reminds the alpha, beaming with tight, pure energy, smelling really fucking good/dangerous right in front of him, and. Uh. “My bitch.”

Jared points out, “That’s a really nice shirt,” though the last syllables might get lost somewhere behind Ackles’ handsome, handsome teeth.

Jared absently feels some kibble sticking to the back of his knee, but the uncomfortable scratch of the century-old cheap carpet on his so quickly bared naked ass is much more present.

Jared complains, his dick already on half-mast, “But the pizza…”

Jensen grunts as he yanks those basketball-shorts off of him completely and assures, “I’ll get more if you want. Later.”

There are hands on his tits, squeezing, and a comment on how Jensen likes “these”, and Jared’s starry-eyed with all of it.

“I work out,” he blabbers, helplessly, knees up to his ears without any verbal incentive.

“I can tell.”

“I—lift, and, and I. Run marathons, and.”

Jensen gets a hold of both his nipples and clamps them between thumbs and forefingers, and Jared’s lip trembles stupidly, wetly.

“They’re so small,” hushes the alpha, and Jared nods with tears in his eyes. “I love it.”

“Oh,” sighs Jared, the stupid ass, and a distant thought reminds him that his back will hate him tomorrow while Jensen shoves the faded Star Wars tee up into his pits to get at his tits right.

“Y-you can’t,” he says, his own perfectly capable hands clammed up around his bony kneecaps while this kid fondles him like a newfound hobby, like they’re just-sprouted, painful mounds.

Jared can _taste_ the blurt of precome into Jensen’s jeans.

Is he wearing underwear at all?

“These are mine as well,” soft-murmurs Ackles, mesmerized by the barely-handfuls; more hard bench press work than fat at all, really, but it seems to be doing the trick. He grinds his packed-away cock up into the crack of Jared’s ass. “All of you.”

Jared’s wrapping his arms around him for the first time for closing his mouth over one nipple and sucking, then biting, then not letting go.

Coming up, Jared is so shocked he isn’t bleeding that he misses his chance to push Jensen away from the other one.

“I want everyone to know,” empty-headed words that only register in parts of Jared’s brain where Jared doesn’t need them; the fevery-clenchy bits that pull his stomach tighter and his calves closer around the alpha in between them. “Should be black and blue. Full of me.”

Rut-talk.

Jared isn’t sure he’s gonna make it.

“C-condoms.”

“Yeah.” Jensen’s undoing his jeans single-handed.

Jared stares down between their bodies. The smell hits him like a brick wall. Suppressants or not, he’s choking on it—the pheromones, the thick line of precome now freely dripping over his hairless stomach.

“Put it on me.”

“Whu? Oh,” Jared slurs, crinkly wrapper pushed into his drenched palm now. He can’t get it open and is gonna start bawling.

“Here,” he hears, and Jensen guides his unknowing hand. “You better get used to this.” How is the kid still stringing together sentences? This is bullshit. God.

God, he’s so fucking _massive_.

Jared’s got humongous hands, of course, matching the rest of his joke of an omega body, but even with those, he struggles to touch thumb and middle finger together.

“Stop teasing.” Jensen accentuates that with a slap to his bruised tit.

Jared doesn’t have to be asked twice.

That safely latex’d cock forces into him without prep, again. Fortunately, he’s still butter-soft from last night (embarrassingly so) and Jared groans, mortified with how slick he already is. Jensen stops him by eating at his mouth, rutting up into him in short, impatient shoves. “Hold onto those knees for me,” is all the instruction he gets, and—honestly—needs.

He could get used to this. He already, painfully, hopelessly, _is_.

Jared blames the increasingly aggressive rug burn for the saltwater in his vision. Also, the sex pheromones. That’s what it is, right? Glands, sensitivity, crybaby omegas. So far, Jared’s sobbing had been reserved for dog movies.

Jared loses the urge to overthink with Jensen wringing his meaty quarterback-hand right around his throat. He gasps, wondering if Jensen can feel his insides clenching the fuck up, but judging by the flash of teeth, yeah, he’s feeling it.

“Gonna fuck you till you can’t walk.” Jared wouldn’t be surprised. “All mine, fuck, _Jared_—”

Ackles’ knot catches right around those syllables, and Jared is suddenly, violently, in love.

Jensen comes down on him like a boulder, his weight somehow magically doubled; knot still expanding, pulsing, hips working even though that shouldn’t be possible at this point.

Jared’s face gets bitten, his ears, lips, until Jensen finds his mark and sinks his teeth so deep into the cords of Jared’s neck that Jared gets a hand slapped across his mouth for the outcry it tears from him.

Iron fills the air and Jensen’s eyes earned a new shade of dark once he’s come up. “Shit,” he slurs, blood coating his lips, and he drops the two of them forehead to forehead, and Jared cranes his neck to lick from his mouth right.

Jensen’s rut renews its effort to apparently try and climb inside of him.

Jensen chants, “Mine, mine,” and Jared nods, fevered, unintelligently humming consent to yes, whatever, everything, please. Jensen is cradling Jared’s face in both of his hands.

Ackles’ eyes slip almost-closed, then again, before his head thuds down, hard, next to Jared’s.

“Uh—”

Jared can still feel the contractions pumping Jensen into him; can feel his heart rushing in a strong, steady beat right along.

He’s breathing, right? “Jen…Jensen?”

Well, uh.

Shit.

They’re tied and laying still long enough for the cats to become adventurous. Onion lies down right next to Jared’s head and curls up, purring loudly. It’s dinner time.

“Just another minute,” he croaks.

His own stomach growls.

He sighs.

~

“I can buy you a new one.”

“That’s not—I’ve had this one for, like…” Jared holds the shirt out in front of him. He sighs, exhausted. “Well, can’t be helped, I guess.”

They tried getting the blood out forever now. ‘They’ meaning Jared doing the work and Jensen grumbling instructions from the closed toilet lid.

“It’s just a shirt,” says mirror-Jensen with a shrug, behind mirror-Jared, who looks like he’s been mauled by a cougar.

They’re both in pairs of Jared’s underwear. Jensen scrolls through his phone with a bag of frozen peas pressed to the goose egg forming on his temple while Jared is silently mourning one of his favorite pieces of vintage fandom wear.

“Order more pizza.”

“Excuse me?”

Jared dunks the shirt into the trash bin. “Did I stutter?”

_Scream_ flickers over Jared’s outdated TV screen, and while Jensen is content with the cold meat lovers, Jared dwells in his fresh helping of spinach, feta cheese and garlic.

Jared remembers he was in love roughly one hour ago and sneaks a side glance at the alpha in question.

The feeling is definitely, entirely, gone.

Fuck hormones. His neck hurts.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Jared’s not so sure now that Jensen’s all dressed up again and right in front of his door, about to leave, but. He’ll have to get back to work tomorrow. He thinks.

Jensen shrugs into his jacket and tells him, “Okay, fine,” and Jared somehow manages to get offended by the lack of sarcasm in that statement. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Hey.”

Jared’s hands get wrapped up in two almost-as-huge-as-his-own ones. They’re calloused and some stray freckles taunt him for staring.

“Hey,” again, softer, and Jared shifts his look up to that face.

Ackles looks like all of his eighteen short years now. His hair is a mess that no amount of product could save at this point, and…is that a glint of vulnerability in those tired, glassy eyes?

“Text me,” he pleads, firm enough to not give Jared any more ideas.

Jared tells him, “I’m not glued to my phone like today’s generation, y’know. I have other things to do, sometimes.”

Jensen nods sincerely.

“I am a very busy guy.”

Jensen rubs his thumbs over the bony knobs of Jared’s knuckles and says, “Let me know when you’re free, then.”

There’s no goodbye kiss to send the kid on his way, and Jared regrets it already before fully closing the door.

~

“I don’t want to hear it,” is the first thing out of his mouth, but Jack still shrieks like the bruises on Jared’s face and neck are, in fact, tickets to a personal meet-and-greet with Neil Gaiman.

“Oh my God!”

“Jack—”

“Hhhhoooaaahhh look at YOU!”

“Jack, I will break your spine right by the Jungle Gym if you don’t shut your goddamn mouth NOW.”

Jack fans himself with both hands, tears in his eyes. “Is that a promise, daddy?”

It took a humiliating trip to the pharmacy and half a tube of concealer to make him look less like an episode of Law And Order – Special Victims Unit. There still are shades of blue peeking out underneath the band-aid covering the neat row of Ackles Jr.’s front teeth right below Jared’s eye.

And, yeah, he knows what he smells like, _thanks_.

Jack summarizes, “He destroyed you.”

Jared yanks the flask from him with a glare. They’ve migrated to the PC lab.

“He completely de-_stroyed_ you.”

“How many more times are you gonna repeat that?”

“I’m honestly so proud of you for going into public like that,” confides Jack, flask back at his mouth. “You’re the most badass bitch I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen some _badass_ bitches.”

Jared grits, “Thanks,” and ingests the last swig of liquid courage before he _has_ to power-walk to first period.

“Go, Green Tigers, go!”

Jared flips his colleague off.

He’s not all the way through the door and already yelling, “Alright, class, get your books out, page one-twenty, Parker, you’re gonna enlighten us with your—”

He only notices the blackboard by the time he’s turning to write on it.

The entire class breaks into insane laughter.

“Very funny. Yeah, y’all are _so_ funny and clever.”

Jared soaks the sponge in the nearby sink and wipes the board so wet and fast that his entire sleeve gets soaked with the colorful crayon-mud water.

“Okay,” he roars, “now, Parker, homework!”

If it’s his unhinged rage and beet-red face or the short attention span of the kids, or just sheer luck—they don’t press the issue.

Other classes pull similar pranks. There’s ointment on a desk here, a frilly cushion on a chair there. Someone sharpie’d giant dicks on his car. Mr. Collins helps him remove it with (sadly the non-fit to drink kind of) alcohol.

Actually, things go smoother than he’d expected.

Margaret spits at his feet and misses by some inches.

Jared blinks.

“You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Mrs. Turner,” roars Collins, bless his heart, “maybe you should watch what that mouth of yours is doing.”

The beta stands in front of him like a tank, easily two feet smaller than him, ready to fight. Jared would cry tears of emotion if he wasn’t in shock. Margaret wrinkles her nose and keeps strutting the other way.

“Don’t listen to that alpha bitch,” Collins advises, re-dunks his towel into the bucket of alcohol and picks up the cleaning.

Jared nurses a joint on the roof, by himself, for a late lunch. Zoning off into the cloudless sky, the breeze in his hair, he begins lightening up. Hey, things could be worse.

An alpha teacher giving in to a student? Lawsuit. Prison.

As an omega, all he’ll get is a slap on the wrist (if at all), be the laughingstock for a few years and that’s that. He’s got some practice with the latter, anyway, being a middle-aged and unmated giant and all that.

His phone buzzes. He unlocks the screen to a new message from AA (which is short for Alpha Asshole, which Jensen doesn’t have to figure out just yet).

_tomorrow?_

tomorrow what?

_need me to spell it out for you?_

I need some alone time.

_yeah, today. I’ll pick you up after school._

you’re a lot.

_and you’re into that._

you almost severed my jugular. give me a week.

  1. _ stop pretending to be such a prude._

wow. fuck you.

Jared sets his phone to “silent” and slips it back into his pocket with a foul twist in his chest.

Sure enough, despite having to run the gauntlet all day for the obvious reasons, Jensen is there, waiting for him, in the evening. As if there’s no consequences. As if he doesn’t care what Jared has to go through just so this brat can get his dick wet.

“I said no,” reminds Jared, keys strict in hand, and Jensen blurts, “Yeah, and I objected.”

“You can’t say ‘no’ to someone’s ‘no’.”

“I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Jared grumbles a, “Whatever,” and shoulders Jensen away to unlock his Honda. He gets a shrill, “Hey!” and counters with a just as aggressive, “What?! Fuck off!”

Jared hits the pavement so hard he’s glad his arm came up in instinct to cushion his head.

His glasses shatter on the sidewalk.

Jensen looks just as surprised as him.

“I’m—I didn’t mean to—”

Jensen’s face morphs from horror to fury, and he punches his raw fist into the side of Jared’s car, and storms off.

Jared gets up eventually, just to notice that his knee is bleeding.

~

Jensen is absent from school for two days. Or just from Jared’s classes. Jared has no way or interest of knowing.

Soup is simmering on the stove and the usual self-care Iron Man marathon is on, Kale blissfully purring on Jared’s lap, when the doorbell rings.

It won’t go away after ignoring it for five long, tedious minutes. Jared sighs.

He hobbles to the door, security chain intact, and cracks it open.

A bundle of Benjamins is right in his face.

“I don’t want your money,” is what Jared’s mouth blurts, immediately, and his bank account cries, but his self-respect loves it.

“Open the door.”

“Negative.”

“Then why are you talking to me at all?”

“So you don’t upset my cats with your bullshit.”

“You think I will stop with my bullshit now that I’ve seen your face again?”

They hold eye contact for a long moment before Jared closes the door to unlock the chain.

Jensen steps in, looking well-rested except for the cast on his right hand.

Jensen uses the element of surprise to stuff the bills into the chest pocket of Jared’s shirt. “For the dent in your car,” he supplies, generously, but Jared can’t miss the gleam of red on the tops of those ears.

Jared deliberately steps into the alpha’s way of intruding the apartment any further.

“How hard is it for you to say ‘sorry’, huh?”

Jensen glares daggers, but his posture remains limp. “Look,” he begins, “okay. I’m sorry. Okay?”

“No, it’s not okay.”

Jensen turns on his heels, more jittery than Jared thought any alpha could be in front of a lesser omega. “You know what, maybe I should leave, yeah?”

Jared can barely hold back from reaching for the sleeve of his jacket.

Instead, he supplies, dumbly, “I’m, uh, I’m making soup.”

Jensen hung his jacket with Jared’s and stares into his bowl with a lot of respect and very little appetite.

“It’s mostly beans,” explains Jared, quietly, embarrassed. He hadn’t planned for this to work. Or to show Jensen his meager meal prep.

Jared eats in silence while Jensen holds onto his spoon. The sight seems awkward until it comes to Jared’s mind that Jensen most likely is right-handed.

He slurps a piece of leek from his spoon. “Does it hurt?”

Jensen shrugs. “Eh.”

Jensen supposedly tries to wriggle his fingers in order to show off how much it doesn’t hurt, just to realize that it hurts too much to perform more than a meek twitch.

Jared says, “Hm.”

“I like the new glasses.”

“Thanks. My old ones got trashed when some asshole assaulted me in the parking lot.”

It’s quiet but for the distant banging of one of the cats fighting the living room blinds.

Jared is almost finished with his meal by the time Jensen puts down his spoon to layer his hand on top of Jared’s instead.

Generous as he is, Jared worms his thumb out to pet at Jensen’s thumbnail.

Jensen lets him get up to clean the dishes, but those eyes are a weight on him, naturally. Jensen lets him take his time, waits until everything is orderly put away before he rises from his chair to crowd into Jared’s space.

The omega turns around, the kid right there, hand on the small of his back and everything.

They stare each other down for a moment before Jensen goes in for a kiss.

Jared lets him have that.

One turns into a bunch. Which is fine.

Things get fuzzy with Jensen nosing over the damage he inflicted. Jared flinches with the softest of soft butterfly kisses of too-long alpha lashes.

Jared gets a hand around that waist, finds a nice spot mirrored to where Jensen is pawing at him. Jared swears he can feel that slightest tilt to an arch.

Jensen is back at mouthing at Jared’s lips when Jared goes all in and cups one generous handful of ass.

Jensen is aware this is a test and stays as calm as a cake.

“I need to get inside of you,” is a fair, gentle warning, and Jared reminds, hushedly, “No teeth.”

Jensen’s tongue still tastes like mint.

Jensen pushes him back and up until his ass is firmly planted on the kitchen counter—just so he can step between those legs and yank at his shorts.

It takes a little effort, but they get them off eventually.

“You know, you’re too big for an omega,” murmurs Jensen, and Jared leans back a bit so his semi can further fatten in front of an audience.

“Does it bother you?”

Jensen makes a heart-broken face. “You’re so much work.”

Jared hooks his socked feet behind the kid’s ass to better press them dick to dick. Jensen hums for that, his hands cradling the firm top of Jared’s ass.

“You’re almost as big as me,” confesses Jensen, very, very small.

Jared not-asks, “It turns you on,” which is a suicidal thing to do at any capacity.

It’s a masterpiece, really—that tiny-huge crack skittering along the alpha’s pride, tinting the air immediately, undoubtedly. The fleck of bewilderment, of danger.

This entire thing between the two of them has become way too fun, way too quickly, and Jared is pierced with the sudden, immense fear to have it taken away.

“Once my hand,” and Jensen doesn’t lean in, nor does he speak up—just a rough, little voice that slithers right into Jared’s bloodstream, “is better, I will put you in place. Properly.”

“Are you gonna fuck me or sweet-talk me all night, asshole?”

Jared has no recollection of how they made it to the bedroom. After helping Jensen out of his shirt, he gets a backhand and a, “On your knees.”

Jared’s knee is still being a bitch, but this is not the time or place to consider that.

He’s barely got those skin-tight jeans down those thighs by the time Jensen’s slapped him across the face with his very-much ready cock.

Jared opens his mouth just to get nothing.

“Stick your tongue out.”

Jared does that.

“Keep it out,” he hears, followed by the sound of Jensen spitting.

It shouldn’t rile him the fuck up that it hits his tongue spot on.

Finally, Jensen feeds him the head of his cock. Jared opens wider.

“You know I like my holes wet.”

Jared straightens his back, unnecessarily.

As always, not much preamble—Jensen gets a steady grip on Jared’s top bun and sinks down his gullet like—well, yeah—it’s just another hole for him to fuck.

Jared manages him until the base of his knot, until he’s out of throat. He spasms, then, swallows, and Jensen growls a deep, satisfied noise.

“I like you quiet like this.”

Jared tries to hum but forgets about it with his air supply getting dangerously thin.

Jensen pulls out just in time, and Jared is left to heave, once, before he’s earned himself a backhand and another throatful of cock.

“Now, don’t get weak on me, Padalecki.”

Jensen regrabs his hair and begins a steady, deep pace.

Jared forgot how much he loves this.

“Yeah, that’s it. Let me use it.”

His drool splatters onto the backs of his neatly folded hands on the tops of his thighs.

“You wanna touch yourself so bad, don’t you? Yeah,” Jensen laughs upon the flash of need ghosting over Jared’s face, “you better not though, huh? If you wanna sit on this, you better fucking not.”

Jared honest to God hadn’t even thought about it, but—now that he’s not allowed, he craves it. Like, he’s gonna die if he doesn’t.

He whimpers as a fat pearl of slick bubbling from the tip of his cock, slowly, uselessly, runs down the entire length of it, while Jensen fucks his face like his personal pocket pussy.

“In fact, you’re not touching that dick ever again. Yeah, I’d like that. Think I got a cage back home that’ll fit, gonna put that on you a-fucking-sap. First thing. So all you’re ever gonna come on from now on is _this_.”

“_Please_,” splatters Jared immediately, exclusively, wreckedly, and Jensen backhands him again as a ‘thank you’ and growls at him to get the condoms from where they stashed them in the nightstand last time. “Put it on me,” is the next bark, and Jared is climbing him without having to be told so.

Jensen still grabs him by the waist because it’s never enough for him—fast enough, in his control enough—and they both groan at the easy, deep slide.

Jared is breathless just from sitting down on it all the way when the alpha informs him, “Get up, that’s not in your pussy.”

He whines, mostly from the loss, and then from the incomparable invasion when Jensen angles himself with his left hand and pops straight through the hot-slicked mouth of his pussy.

“Yeah,” he grunts somewhere beneath Jared, “There we go.”

Jared is getting push-pulled in two different depths, snug around the massive alpha dick like two too-small rubber bands. Jared has no idea how any of the ‘normal’ sized, petite omegas can take something like this.

Jensen counter-fucks his perfectly healthy hips up, grunting with pleasure, while Jared is acutely aware of how his own neglected dick is slapping down on Jensen’s—for an alpha pretty sparsely grown—happy trail.

Not touching it makes his ass that much needier, it seems, which in turn makes his cock tingle like heaven—a hellish circle that leaves him frustrated and horny out of his mind.

Gonna put a cage on it. Never again.

Jared comes without a warning, pumping what feels like two sets of balls’ worth of slick over Jensen’s tight stomach, all the way up his breast bone, and he grinds down to milk himself right on that alpha cock, jutting back and forth and throwing his head back and finally he can get back at his permanently screaming neighbors.

Jensen lets him go for a generous moment and slops back in and out of Jared once he’s had enough of patience. Jared’s so wet he’s crying, exhausted, his cock oddly tingly and again needy from coming untouched, not being wrung out as usual.

A first, Jensen warns, “It’s gonna pop,” and Jared comes again, a little, from the thought of being tied to this rock-hard bliss for several continuous minutes in three, two, one—

One of them is always rocking him on that knot, and Jared had not known, never thought possible, that an omega (or anyone) could have that many orgasms in one—very literal—sitting.

It gets too much, but Jensen is still hard, his load still going, and Jared is going nowhere anytime soon.

He skirts in and out of consciousness, doubled over and sobbing into Jensen’s golden shoulder, his balls painfully empty and his insides clenched up so hard he can feel every spurt of precious alpha come getting wasted in the deposit of the extra tough condom. Every new motion Jensen push-pulls him to do rackets another shiver from his tailbone all the way up to the ends of his hairs, sends his cervix kissing up against the fat latex-smooth pillow-head of alpha cock, his pussy hug-pulling him in and out.

What a great way to die.

Next thing he knows, a far-away voice slurs, “I love your hair,” while someone pets his head.

It’s whatever AM. Sir Milkshake has taken her usual nocturnal residence on top of his feet.

Without a concept of space and time, this could as well be a dream.

Ackles is laying on his side, half-awake himself.

Ackles tells him, “I think I might love you,” and, yeah, definitely a dream.

Jared chuckles in a too-vulnerable tone. “Dude. Slow down.”

Ackles continues, unfazed, “I’ve known it for some time now.” Kid’s face is sleep-gentle with his hair all moussed up. Jared has the urgent need to run his hands through it. “Since around freshman year. First time I smelled you. It was like…”

Jensen’s voice trails off. Jared is still getting strings of hair plucked from his dumb, oily face.

If Jared didn’t know any better, he’d say there’s a layer of sweetness glazing over those eyes.

“I just knew.”

Jared smiles. “So romantic.”

Jensen pleads, “Shut up,” but his voice doesn’t dip mean for it. “I mean it.”

There’s a silence for Jared P. personally.

The thing going on with Jensen A.’s eyes right now must be the closest thing Jared will ever see an alpha get to ‘begging’.

Jared P. chuckles, awkwardly, cowardly, and shifts underneath the blanket.

“You’re a _lot_,” he croaks, entirely overwhelmed. There’s a distant call for him to run.

“You don’t believe me.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?” The alpha is still soft in every possible nuance of his communication. Instead of ‘violence’, Jared picks up a subtle whiff of ‘sadness’. “You feel it too, despite your drugs.”

“Maybe I’m not that much of a romantic about blunt biology.”

“Why not? _Everything_ is chemistry and biology. Even feelings. _Especially_ feelings.”

“You’re eighteen years old,” says Jared, frown-laughing, “you don’t know _shit_.”

That shuts the kid up.

Something in Jared tells him to apologize, pronto.

Jared waits it out.

Ackles concludes, “It bothers you _that_ much?” and Jared exclaims, “How can you NOT be bothered by it?!”

The kid looks officially hurt now. “It just doesn’t matter,” he decides, “and, let’s be real: if we were the same age, you’d have never let me even _talk_ to you.”

Well. “Touché,” croaks a very timid Jared. “But consider this: we have—Jen, there’s nothing we have in common. I, I don’t even _know_ you!”

Jensen repeats, “I love you,” like that’s a legit reason, “and you can _get_ to know me. I’m right here. Ask me anything.”

“Well, w-what’s—” Padalecki, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into again? “—w-what’s your, you—favorite horror movie?”

“‘It’.” Ackles adds, upon Jared’s eyes narrowing, “Not the remake.”

Jared’s eyes stay narrowed. “Favorite team?”

“Cowboys.”

“Birthday?”

“March first.”

“Pisces! _I knew it_. Uh, I mean—f-favorite, uh…”

“I have two siblings, all alpha,” says the kid who, at some point, wormed their hands together. “My parents expect me to work for their company after college. We own a ranch. I’ve been horseback riding since I was a toddler. I _hate_ my freckles.”

Jared is at a loss. “Big brother or…?”

“Middle child,” hums Jensen.

“_Me, too!_ Your freckles though are, like, the most adorable thing about you.”

“Exactly. I don’t want to look like a fucking five-year-old.”

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

The kid Jared absolutely shouldn’t trust or fall for says, “A cowboy, probably,” and Jared has rarely been this happy to be on suppressants.

I might want to make a baby with you, NOW. “Okay, cowboy, just to be clear—I’m not committing to you.”

“Okay.”

“But we can see each other every now and then and…see how things go.”

“I’ll allow you calling it that.”

“I know you think being alpha means you must be an asshole 24/7, but honestly, it’s just annoying.”

“Wasn’t annoying you a few hours ago though, was it?”

“I like it when you shut _up_.”

Jensen kisses him then.

There might be cuddling happening. Someone’s dick might get hard, just because it’s so nice.

Jensen falls asleep first, in Jared’s arms, and Onion lets himself get tricked into ignoring the off-smelling, mean new human. He settles into his favorite spot, the pillow, like a crown on Jensen’s chlorine-blond.


End file.
